


bloom inside my heart

by griefhoney



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Grim Reapers, M/M, Supernatural Elements, inspired by too many regional gothic posts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griefhoney/pseuds/griefhoney
Summary: yunho needs a roommate and changmin needs a place to stay. they meet halfway.





	bloom inside my heart

There are many things Yunho could be doing on a warm Saturday evening. He could be out with friends or vegetating on his sofa with a film he’s watched already and stare at the flickering screen until he falls asleep.

He could be pretending to cook and set his kitchen on fire. He could be redecorating; paint the walls bright yellow and fill the windowsills with flowers and useless porcelain figurines. 

All preferable options to sitting at his kitchen table with his sister debating about what font he should use for a roommate advertisement. 

She says he's lonely. 

(He isn't.) 

" _Times New Roman_  will make me look pretentious," he says, dragging the mouse from under her fingers. 

She pulls it back. "And  _Aqualina Script_ will make you look like an asshole. Look,  _Cambria_ is nice." 

 _Cambria_ isn't nice, it looks almost exactly the same as the other ten million respectable fonts she's picked out.

"This is stupid." 

The font on the screen changes to something called  _Georgia_ and Yunho sinks lower into his chair until he's almost at eye level with the clutter covering at least three-quarters of the table. Lipstick stained mugs (his sister's), a half-empty cup of hot chocolate, the remnants a gross, gloopy mess at the bottom of the cup and piles and piles of newspapers, magazines and notebooks. 

"You need this," she mutters and clicks on a particularly offensive font. 

What Yunho needs is a nap.  

"I'm _fine_ ," he argues. 

The engagement ring on her left-hand flashes in the dying light filtering through the kitchen windows. 

"A grown man, who substitutes human interaction with a small army of cuddly toys, is not  _fine_." She glares at the giant teddy bear innocently taking up half the sofa. 

"I have  _friends_." 

The pointer of the mouse hovers over  _Playfair Display_ as she turns to look at him. It's a Look, vaguely disdainful, mostly pitying. "Friends that moved out and now live, as you called it, light years away."

Yunho, unwilling to lose his last scrap of dignity to his younger sister, sits back up straight. But using his height as an intimidation method only works on high school bullies and the general public. His sister remains unfazed. "I have work friends," he says. 

"Colleagues and your students don't count. And especially not," she adds, holding up a hand when Yunho starts to protest, "that history teacher you keep mentioning. She wants to sleep with you, not be your friend. Learn to read signals." 

He wrestles the mouse out of her hand and clicks on  _Comic Sans_ just to piss her off. 

 

*

 

It's 3 AM and the moon is a silver cut in the sky.

Yunho's phone rings, loud and shrill in the silence. It buzzes and he watches, half-asleep, as it buzzes itself off his bedside table and onto the floor where the screen flickers feebly before going out completely. 

There are no missed calls when he checks in the morning. 

 

*

 

"I'm – I'm sorry, how many cats?" 

The girl, perched daintily on his sofa beams, obviously mistaking his shock for interest. "Seven," she says, "but one's pregnant so there are a couple more on the way." 

Yunho likes his house the way it is.

He likes the creaking staircase that's definitely a health and safety hazard and the post-stamp sized garden and its cracked, crumbling patio. He likes the porch and the vines creeping out from underneath it and he likes it relatively cat-free. 

It's a shithole, as Heechul had once so delicately put it, but it's his shithole. 

 

"I'll definitely keep you in my mind," he says at the end of the interview, holding the door open for her. 

She smiles with too many teeth and hops down the steps of the porch. "Is that a promise?" 

 

*

 

"Seven cats is just – it's too much." 

There's a smile in Jihye's voice. "Says the guy with 15 cuddly toys and counting." 

He hangs up on her. 

 

*

 

Yunho comes home to someone sitting on the bottom step of the porch. 

"Uhm," he starts, unsure of how to proceed. 

The stranger jumps to his feet, hand outstretched. He looks and smells like he's been dead for 5 days. 

Yunho shakes his hand. 

"I came because of the roommate advertisement," he says, following Yunho up the steps as he fumbles for his keys.  

"Oh? Oh – ah, I'm sorry, but I've already… found someone." The lie leaves an acrid aftertaste on the back of Yunho's tongue.

A fly buzzes out of the stranger's mouth as his shoulders sag in disappointment. 

"I'm sorry," Yunho reiterates. 

 

*

 

"Well, well, well, look who's here." 

Yunho drops his keys into the bowl by the door. "I live here, hyung," he says. 

A clatter from the kitchen and Heechul appears, followed by a cloud of steam. "Alone," he grins, "you live here  _alone_." 

Kicking his shoes off Yunho collapses onto the sofa, sinking low into what were once white cushions. "How'd you get in?"

"Still have a key." 

"I thought you gave me your key?" 

More steam billows out from behind Heechul, enveloping him in a white haze. "I gave you  _a_ key." 

"Okay." Yunho stretches. " _Why_ are you here then?" 

"To feed you. Also, your sister texted me." 

Yunho sits up. "You talk to my sister?" 

"Have been for the last two years, keep up. Anyway. She said you're in desperate need for some emotional support so" – he wiggles his hands in the air – " _ta-da_. Here I am." 

There's a pause as Yunho tries to think of friends better suited for the emotional support role. He comes up empty-handed. "You and emotional support, huh?" 

Heechul grins, wide and vaguely manic. "I'm all for trying new things." 

"And how" – Yunho gropes around the back of the sofa for a cuddly toy and puts it between himself and Heechul – "are you going to  _emotionally support_ me?"

"Well, I'm making you food, so that counts as something. And we can watch one of those trashy action films you like so much. Unless your taste has matured in the last eight weeks and we can watch something else."

Yunho laughs, despite himself and hurls the teddy bear in Heechul's general direction. "You hate those films." 

"We could fuck?" 

" _Hyung_ –"

Heechul sighs and floats back into the kitchen. "I always forget you're a prude." 

 

*

 

"I didn't know they had graveyard shifts at, well, graveyards." 

The kettle starts to scream and Yunho gratefully ducks into the kitchen, away from the unnervingly large, dark eyes of his visitor. 

"Well, someone has to keep everything inside during the night," his voice echoes from the living room. 

Definitely unnerving. 

"And out, I guess," he adds, thoughtfully when Yunho returns with a scalding hot pot of green tea. 

"Keep what out?" Yunho asks without thinking. 

"Oh, graverobbers and… stuff." 

Yunho, thinking of all the normal people he could be interviewing right now, smiles distractedly. 

"Right." 

 

* 

 

The sky's painted itself a bright apricot orange when Yunho comes home. Light drips down from the sky and onto the cracked asphalt, joining the puddles left over from that afternoon's surprise thunderstorm. 

There's a plate of cupcakes on Yunho's porch, covered in sticky green icing and weighing down a hastily scribbled note. 

The note reads, _"hi! I wanted to apply for your free_ _room but you weren't home so I made you some cupcakes instead!"_

Yunho stares at the note and then at the plate of cupcakes. They smell like rotting apples and liquorice.  

He leaves the cupcakes out under the porch where he usually puts some cat food and a curtain in one of his neighbour's windows twitches. 

They're still there in the morning, green and unedible as ever. 

 

* 

 

It's 3 AM and there's someone in Yunho's kitchen. 

Someone who isn't Yunho. 

Yunho's standing on the second-to-last step of the stairs, baseball bat in hand and his heart in his throat. 

There's a loud  _clank_ and the sound of running water. 

It's 3 AM and there's a man standing in Yunho's kitchen; tall, dark and handsome in a long black coat and bright pink rubber gloves.  

They stare at each other. 

"You're doing the dishes," Yunho says rather stupidly.

The stranger looks down at the rubber gloves and the dripping bowls and saucepans on the draining board and then nods, hesitating slightly. "I'm here because of the roommate ad." 

"Oh." And then. "Did I leave the door unlocked?" 

"I – no, you didn't." He offers no further explanation and Yunho doesn't ask for one. 

An awkward pause. 

"I'm Shim Changmin, by the way." He holds out a pink rubber glove-clad hand. "I called a couple of days ago, but I think something went wrong with the call." 

Yunho is forced to put down the baseball bat to introduce himself and in the end, his manners win out over his shock and general unpreparedness. Gesturing at the now considerably tidier kitchen table he says, "You can sit down – if you want."  

After some shuffling and Yunho pulling a cardigan over his sleep shirt they finally settle at the table. 

It's an island of warm, yellow light in the otherwise dark room. 

Out of all the potential roommates Yunho's had to interview so far, Shim Changmin looks like the most normal and sane and human, which is a relief. He can't possibly be weirder than the cat lady or the walking corpse. 

"So, um" – Yunho runs a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts – "what do you do? What's your job?" 

"I'm a grim reaper." 

Weird. Definitely weirder than the cat lady. 

" _Oh_." 

"I hope that isn't a problem," Changmin says, an anxious tilt to his voice. 

It's 3 AM and Yunho's sitting in his kitchen with a grim reaper. 

"I'm not, like, dying soon, am I?" 

"What – no.  _No_. Definitely not. I just genuinely need a place to live." 

Yunho relaxes into his chair. "Oh, good. My sister's getting married soon and I want to be around for it." 

There's a smile twitching at the corners of Changmin's mouth. 

"So are you – are you immortal? Or just. Really, really old?" Both are appropriate questions but Yunho feels a bit stupid for asking them.

"I'm 27." 

He doesn't look not-27.

Yunho squints. "Are you actually 27 or is that a weird way of saying that you're really 2700 years old?" 

Grinning, Changmin says, "Actually 27. My parents live in Seoul, they can confirm it, if you want." 

"I–" 

"Or you could just believe me." 

Life is short and Yunho chooses to believe him. 

"So you didn't commit a heinous crime in a past life, die a tragic death and get reborn as a grim reaper?" 

Changmin's chair scrapes against the rough hardwood floor as he leans back to laugh. "I'm not Lee Dong Wook if that's what you're asking." 

Yunho, flushing slightly, soldiers on. "So you're just a regular human?" 

"Yes." 

"Who happens to be a grim reaper?" 

"Exactly." 

Something starts yowling outside, high-pitched and whining but Yunho ignores it. 

" _How_? How do you even become a grim reaper?" 

"Well," Changmin starts, "first you have to have a near death experience and then you can see them, even when they're, y'know,  _invisible_. I was in a car crash when I was really young and when I got out of the army The Management offered me a job." 

" _As a grim reaper_?" 

He shrugs. "It's just a job. And I mean – getting a job nowadays is really difficult and I'm not stupid. The pay's good, I get to choose my own hours and you get perks like teleportation and invisibility. Which sane person would say no to that?"

"I would." 

"Oh?" He leans forward slightly. "What do you do, then?" 

"I'm a high school teacher," Yunho replies, a little defensively. 

Changmin snorts. "Same difference." 

He's not entirely wrong. 

 

*

 

" _Oh_ , wait. I need to tell you something." 

Changmin, armed with a sagging cardboard box filled to the brim with books, freezes with one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. "Yeah?" 

"There are," Yunho struggles briefly, trying to find the right word, "not-cats in this neighbourhood. They only really come out during the night, but yeah – I just thought you ought to know." 

"Not-cats?" 

Yunho nods. 

Readjusting the box in his hands Changmin asks, tone cautious, "So… what are they? If they're not cats." 

"Just – just  _not_ cats." 

They both glance at the sliver of the sinking sun visible through one of the living room windows. The sky is a fiery melting pot of reds, oranges and pinks, pretty but apocalyptic. 

"We should–" Changmin starts.

"Yeah." Yunho grins, he can't help it. "We should."

 

*

 

Heechul decides to visit on one rainy, Saturday afternoon. 

He bursts through the front door in a flurry of raindrops and Yunho, who's squished on the sofa with three cuddly toys and Changmin, snorts when Changmin's mouth thins into a line of almost imperceptible annoyance at the mud now decorating the hall. 

"You know I never thought I'd meet death in this bad excuse of a house, yet here we are," Heechul says, by way of a greeting. 

"He's not death." 

Wrenching his gaze away from the muddy footprints Changmin looks up at Heechul, somehow managing to strike a rather impressive figure even when dressed in a ratty grey hoodie and sharing a sofa with three teddy bears of various sizes. "I just work for him," he explains, clearly bored. 

"Pay you well?" 

Changmin shrugs. "Well enough." 

"Why you chose to live  _here_ of all places is beyond me," Heechul mutters and disappears into the kitchen, leaving his shoes in a haphazard pile on the living room rug. 

A prickling feeling on the back of Yunho's neck makes him look up from his work.

Changmin's staring at him, the normally sharp lines of his face softened slightly in the muted, grey light.

 

*

 

"You don't look like Lee Dong Wook," Jihye states bluntly when Changmin opens the front door. 

His sigh is drowned out by Yunho's badly suppressed shout of laughter. 

 

* 

 

Yunho's regular morning routine shifts over the weeks.

His usual morning bowl of frosted flakes and low-fat milk is now accompanied by Changmin doing sit-ups and push-ups on the floor next to him. He does them shirtless.

Very, very shirtless. 

 

"Everything okay?" 

Yunho blinks out of his daze. "Sorry?" 

The history teacher is leaning against the door frame of Yunho's classroom, hip cocked. "I didn't know you changed your name."

"My" – he glances at the blackboard – "oh."

"Silly mistake," she says, smiling, "happens to me too." 

"Right." 

The chalk is damp and Yunho scrubs at it until students start filing into their seats in a great, mind-numbing wave of noise. 

 

*

 

Waking up to a half-dressed grim reaper looming over his bed is not the way Yunho wants to wake up. 

" _What_?" He croaks. 

Changmin looms closer, glowing bronze in the faint light from the hall. 

"We're out of milk." 

Yunho groans. 

 

"Curse-breakers are in aisle 5," the kid at the counter says without looking up from his phone. 

Blinking blearily at the bright fluorescent lights Yunho follows Changmin through the aisles. His slippers slap loudly against the tiled floor while Changmin swishes ahead, still shirtless under his long black coat. 

"We needed milk," he says when they reach the counter, "not anti-curses." 

The kid glances at him and then at Yunho, swaying sleepily near the instant ramen. 

"Milk, huh." The cash-register clanks loudly and he throws a maxi-pack of condoms onto their loot. "Stay safe." 

Changmin drinks most of the milk on their way back and Yunho's left with an awkward silence, a plastic bag and a maxi-pack of condoms. 

 

*

 

It's late and Yunho's just managed to stumble his way into the bathroom when Changmin materializes behind him, crowding him against the washbasin until Yunho can feel his breath on the back of his neck. 

"This is a coincidence," he whispers, hot against Yunho's skin. 

He's absolutely soaked, black coat heavy and dripping water all over the floor. 

"A coincidence," Yunho echoes, weakly. 

"Definitely."

Then he grabs his own toothbrush from the cup under the mirror and disappears again, leaving Yunho with the sickly sweet scent of wet earth and something more bitter, like pond water.

A peculiar warmth trickles down his spine and he ends up going to bed without brushing his teeth. 

 

*

 

There's a storm going on when Yunho makes it home, the skin on his hands tinged grey with spilt ink and there's chalk dust in his hair.

He stumbles up the porch steps, ignoring the rattling windchime and the accusing stare of the neighbour peering at him from the house next door, and practically falls through the front door. 

"Oh, you're home." 

Yunho freezes, bent double and quietly dripping rainwater onto the doormat. 

"Changmin?" 

"Yeah, you might want to" – an awkward cough – "not freak out, okay?" 

Having successfully freed his feet from his sopping wet shoes Yunho ventures cautiously into the dark living room. 

"Wh– oh my  _God_." 

Changmin's sitting on the sofa, still dressed in his impressive black grim reaper get-up and cradling a peacefully purring not-cat. Bright, lamp-like eyes flicker open and Yunho watches in muted horror as Changmin carefully scratches it behind its huge, bat ears.

A pause as the not-cat and Yunho stare at each other. Then the purring resumes and Yunho's heartbeat stutters back into gear. 

"It was hiding under the porch," Changmin explains as Yunho flattens himself against the nearest wall. "I think it was afraid of the storm." 

The not-cat yawns, revealing rows of sharp, yellowing fangs and Yunho forces himself to meet Changmin's gaze, brazen and openly curious. His eyes might not glow but Yunho can't help but feel like he's trapped under a spotlight. 

"You put out food for them, right?" 

"I– yeah." 

"So," Changmin says, "they like you. There's nothing to worry about." 

One yellow eye flickers open again and stares unblinkingly. 

"I think," Yunho says, picking his words carefully as not to accidentally offend the thing in Changmin's lap, "I'm better with dogs." 

"Well, it's not a cat." 

"It's not a dog either." 

Changmin sighs. "Just pet it once. It's really soft, I promise." 

"I'd rather not." 

" _Hyung_. Please." 

The honorific makes a flush crawl up the back of Yunho's neck. "Fine.  _Fine_ ," he snaps, edging further into the room, "but you only get to use that tactic once a year or you have to start saying it regularly."

 

*

 

"Uhm – sir?"

Yunho looks up from where he'd been trying to wrestle the overhead projector into cooperation. 

"Yes?" 

"There's, uh – there's someone here to see you?" 

Sitting back on his heels Yunho peers up at the pale-faced student.

"Who–" he starts, but the sound of leather boots and the swish of a black coat cut his question short. 

Changmin looks incredibly out of place in a school; all dark and awkwardly mysterious, towering over the terrified 13-year-old who scampers back down the hall the moment Yunho gives her the go-ahead. 

"Do you need help with that?" He gestures at the flickering projector. 

Knees protesting Yunho gets to his feet and, ignoring Changmin's question, counters with his own. "How do you know where I work?" 

"You told me." 

Yunho blinks. 

"Oh. Oh – well, how do you know when I finish? Pretty sure I never told you that."  

Changmin's grinning now, smug and infuriating. "Your timetable," he says, "is stuck on the fridge. How am I supposed to  _not_ know." 

" _Why_ are you here then?" 

Yunho's attempt at hiding behind his desk is foiled slightly when Changmin follows him, leaning against the damp blackboard and watching as Yunho starts packing his things. 

"We need to go shopping." 

A pause and Yunho turns to stare at him. 

"You hate going shopping with me." 

Lists. Changmin has a thing for shopping lists. They cover half the fridge and cupboards; an organized chaos of yellow, pink and blue sticky notes. Yunho, on the other hand, does  _not_ have a thing for lists, which renders their grocery shopping routines very incompatible. 

"This is different," Changmin says, pulling a small pink note out of his coat pocket. 

"How is it–"

He sticks the note on Yunho's forehead and the warmth from his fingers lingers on Yunho's skin.  

"It just is."

Yunho sighs, fighting a smile. 

"Alright." 

 

"Is this illegal?" Is the first thing he asks when they land with a faint  _pop_ in a thicket of trees. 

The grip Changmin has on his hand tightens for a second before disappearing completely. 

"Technically, I guess."

A sunny, unpathed country lane stretches out before them and the air tastes decidedly foreign.

Changmin emerges out of the trees like a well-dressed spectre of death, which – isn't entirely wrong and Yunho follows, slowed down by his backpack and squinting up at the sun. 

"Where are we?" 

"France, if I didn't fuck up." 

Yunho gapes at Changmin while he turns on the spot, trying to get his bearings. 

" _Why_?" 

He shrugs. "Why not?" 

They end up going left, away from the sprawling forest they'd just materialized in.

The seemingly endless green pastures with their rickety wooden fences, overgrown with weeds and wildflowers are a far cry from the existential bleakness of their street. No creeping neighbours, or backyard cults – just early morning sunshine and the occasional sheep. 

"You know, I've never been outside of Korea before," Yunho says after a lengthy stretch of silence. 

Changmin glances at him, a jerk of the head so quick Yunho almost misses it. 

"We'll have to do this more often, then." 

The prospect makes something warm bloom under his ribs. 

 

*

  

It's 2 AM and Yunho is slumped at the kitchen table, red ink smudged on his face and hands like bright  _Faber-Castell_ blood. The slowly shrinking pile of barely literate papers in front of him glares accusingly. 

Changmin's curled up on the sofa, fully dressed and staring at the muted TV with a fixed, mask-like expression. 

"Have you ever had a near-death experience?" 

Shadows flicker and dance across the floor and walls.  

Yunho thinks of white hospital rooms, his mother crying and the distant echo of pain making the muscles in his throat contract. 

He shakes his head. 

Changmin's gaze weighs heavily on him for the rest of the short-lived night. 

 

* 

 

"I like you." 

A pause. 

Yunho turns away from the teacher's lounge coffee machine to look at the history teacher, who's standing in a patch of warm afternoon sunlight behind him. She's holding a cup with the words  _Wife Material_ printed on the side and Yunho can't help but feel like the universe just struck him across the face. 

"Uhm–" 

"We've been dancing around each other all this time" – she pauses to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear – "so I thought I should make the first move and get this over with." 

The coffee machine coughs to life behind him and a noisy gurgling sound fills the gaps Yunho is leaving in the conversation. 

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" 

 

*

 

Rain is clattering against the windows when Yunho hears a telltale crash from the living room announcing Changmin's slightly miscalculated arrival. 

A few thumps, creaks and curses later and he appears in the doorway to the kitchen, soggy and miserable. 

" _Why_ ," he grits out, "is it always. Fucking. Raining." 

Turning his attention back to the dishes in the sink Yunho says, "People say this street has bad energy." 

Another clatter as Changmin yanks the fridge open. "This street has bad energy because everyone's in a fucking cult–" 

Yunho snorts. 

"–why do you even live here? You're not in a cult, are you?"

"It was Heechul's house before it was mine, also it's cheap. And no, I'm not in a cult." 

Changmin pulls his head back out of the fridge, a bottle of orange juice in his hand. "Sounds like something someone in a cult would say," he says and wanders back into the living room. 

 

It's when they're having supper that Yunho remembers and nudges Changmin under the table. Red and orange socks against no-nonsense grey ones. 

"I meant to tell you earlier – I have a date." He smiles through the steam rising up from his bowl of soup.

The lights above the table flicker. 

" _What_?" 

Yunho's smile falters a little. "I– a date," he says, "with the history teacher."

"The history teacher," Changmin echoes, non-plussed. 

"You've met her; kind of small with glasses." 

"Those weren't real glasses." 

"She – what? What does that matter?" 

Changmin ignores him.

"Do you like her?" 

Yunho stares at him, completely lost. "She's nice," he says and a surprise crack of thunder almost drowns him out. 

" _Nice_ ," Changmin repeats, eyes dark. 

 

*

 

The date is nice.

Good.

Fine.

All of those. 

Yunho doesn't remember much of it. 

The history teacher is nice. Nicer actually, outside of school. More talkative, too. She chats about this and that and practically everything under the sun and Yunho tries his hardest to pay attention. 

Her voice is similar to Jihye's, something he hadn't noticed before and makes him feel pretty weird. But he marks his general discomfort down to the weight in his chest, the muggy weather and Changmin's week-long rotten mood which had apparently followed him outside. 

He grows fuzzier around the edges the longer the afternoon stretches on. 

 

*  

 

"How was your date?" 

Outside the sunset's last burst of colour has faded away into a dim pink-ish grey and whatever light is left barely makes it past the front door, leaving the rest of the house in an ominous half-light.  

Changmin looms out of the darkness, threatening even in jogging trousers and slippers. 

Instinctively, Yunho takes a step back.   

"It was fin– great! _Great_. It was great." 

"Really?" It comes out almost like a sneer and Yunho's heart lodges itself firmly in his throat. 

"She's – she's nice," he adds feebly. 

Changmin takes another step into Yunho's personal space and he backs away, the door handle digging painfully into the small of his back. 

"Did you kiss?" 

Now completely and utterly out of his depth Yunho opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before managing a choked off, "No. I mean – I kissed her on the cheek? To say goodbye? Why does this matter?" 

He's barely finished when Changmin presses a thumb against his bottom lip, tilting his face upwards a bit and Yunho's whole body jerks awkwardly between trying to get away and trying to get closer. 

"As long as you had fun." His mouth twists up into something only vaguely related to a smile and then the grip on Yunho's chin disappears. "I'm going for a run," he says. 

The abrupt subject change sends Yunho reeling and he nods, ducking out of Changmin's shadow and into the living room.

 

*

 

Yunho's running late for the bus one morning when instead of his travel pass he finds at least six or seven small round sweets in his jacket pockets. Wrapped in colourfully printed foil the unsmiling face of Amadeus Mozart stares up at him from the palm of his hand. 

"Are you getting on or not?" 

Embarrassed he lets the old lady on first and then shuffles through the aisle to the back of the bus, sinking into his seat feeling peculiarly light-headed. 

The cloying taste of marzipan and nougat lingers on the back of his tongue for the rest of the day.

 

*

 

"Can I see the list?" 

"What?" 

Yunho throws a crumpled up piece of paper at Changmin who's sprawled out on the couch with his laptop. It's the sixth piece of crumpled paper and they're all starting to pile up in a sad little heap under and next to the coffee table. 

"The list." 

"No." 

Another crumpled piece of paper hits Changmin smartly in the back of the head. "You're wasting paper," he says, "it's bad for the environment."

"You're bad for the environment," Yunho mutters and more paper sails through the air. "C'mon, just once." 

" _No_." 

Yunho sighs and directs his next attack at the brown leatherbound notebook sitting innocently on the coffee table next to a half-empty bottle of beer. "What am I gonna have to do?" He says, crushing another piece of paper in his hands. " _Beg_?" 

Changmin's shoulders tense and he turns to stare at Yunho with a look that makes his next playful jab die in his throat. 

The air turns treacle-like, warm and sticky. 

"I'm going to," Changmin says, tone carefully controlled, "go for a run. Don't wait up." 

Yunho sits frozen at the table until he hears the front door slam. 

 

*

 

Heechul's greeting words when Yunho stumbles into the dimly lit niche restaurant Heechul had picked out are anything but encouraging. 

"Oh,  _wow_ – Jesus Christ, look at you." 

Yunho slumps down into the chair opposite him and dredges up a glare. 

" _What_?"

"Trouble in paradise?" 

"Trouble in – what?" Yunho stares at him. "I'm not dating anyone?" 

That earns him a derisive snort. " _Clearly_. Or you wouldn't be running around like a vampire who hasn't been dicked down in centuries." 

A scandalized squeak from the next table makes Yunho sink lower in his seat. 

"Listen" – Heechul leers across the table – "take my advice and make a move on the death guy since you're obviously gagging f–"

Yunho kicks him and Heechul plasters a smile over his pained grimace when a waitress navigates her way towards their table. 

They sit in vaguely uncomfortable silence until the food arrives. 

"I'm not," Yunho says through a mouthful of udon, " _gagging_ for it." 

Heechul peers at him over the rim of his glass, eyes knowing.

"No?" 

"No. And anyway –  _death guy_ isn't an option." 

A rasping cough and then, " _What_? He's not straight, is he? There's no way in hell he's straight. I don't believe it – he fucking looks at you like he wants to fu–  _ow_! What was that for?" 

The couple at the table next to theirs is staring at them, wide-eyed and mildly horrified. 

 

*

 

Yunho can't look Changmin in the eye for a whole week and the number of sweets he finds in his jacket and jeans pockets increases with every day until he's forced to start distributing them among his students for a fear of contracting diabetes.

The dull ache in his heart has nothing and everything to do with it. 

 

*

 

It's a humid, suffocating kind of night when Yunho wakes up with a dry throat and an ache in his jaw. 

The stairs creak under his feet, horribly loud in the 2 AM silence. 

Through the darkened living room, past the sofa still cluttered with the cuddly toys, past the kitchen table and into the kitchen.

Yellow tiles glint in the muted streetlight falling through the window and it takes Yunho a couple of seconds to recognize the huddled shape sitting on the floor next to the oven, head bowed and shoulders slumped. 

"Changmin?"  

His head jerks a little, but his hands stay firmly clasped around his knees.

Yunho chooses to take this lack of a reaction as permission to sink down onto the floor next to him, close enough that he can feel the heat rolling off Changmin through his coat, but not quite close enough to actually touch.

They must look odd sitting side by side like that.

One fully dressed in a heavy black wool coat and the other, barefoot and in a T-Shirt that's one bad wash away from falling apart. 

"There were," Changmin says suddenly, voice cracked with misuse, "a lot of kids today." 

Yunho's heart drops into his stomach. 

"I'm – I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say. 

Changmin shrugs, shifting almost imperceptibly closer. "It's part of the job." 

"That shouldn't make it any less – less horrible." 

"I guess."

Yunho waits for him to speak again and the silence weighs heavily on his shoulders.

"It's just – I'm not good with kids." Changmin's knuckles stand out white against the faded tan on the back of his hands. "I'm not – I can't. I can't  _explain_ the concept of death to a four-year-old. They're not supposed to be – they're  _kids_ for fuck's sake. They're not supposed to – to just  _die_." 

His voice cracks on the last syllable, like an ancient rock finally splitting to reveal a molten core underneath and whatever inhibitions Yunho had crumble along with it. 

Changmin folds into his hug easily.  

 

*

 

"Are you getting tired of marzipan?" 

Yunho shrugs a silent  _yes_ and holds out the cereal box as a peace offering.  

Humming thoughtfully Changmin takes it and then, without breaking eye contact disappears into thin air. 

Left with a carton of milk, an empty bowl and a cup of half-finished coffee that isn't his Yunho goes to school hungry. 

 

*

 

Postcards start appearing in Yunho's lesson plans and piles of to-be-marked essays. 

They're from all over the place. Mining towns in Wales, small islands in Japan, side streets in Hong Kong. The cupboards and fridge are soon covered in brightly coloured squares of city-scapes. 

 _From Paris With Love_ smiles down at Yunho every time he puts plates and bowls away. 

Neither of them mention it. 

 

*

 

A crowded shopping street is not generally known as a good place to materialise out of thin air. Not that something like that has ever stopped Changmin who melts into existence and falls right into step with Yunho, who barely manages to swallow the curse that almost escapes him. 

"We should go clubbing," he says without preamble. 

Yunho actually stops to stare at him, a disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Who are you," he says, "and what have you done with the real Changmin?"

"Very funny. No, I'm serious." He tugs Yunho along by the wrist. "Some friends invited me and I'm not going alone." 

It's a statement, not a request. 

"I'm your plus-one?" Yunho asks before he can stop himself and the grip Changmin has on his wrist tightens. 

"You're with me," he says which doesn't really explain much. 

"With you?" 

Changmin glances at him, expression unreadable. "You can't hold your alcohol, so yeah – with me. I'm not leaving you alone." 

Warmth, familiar and sticky, trickles down Yunho's spine. 

"Okay." 

 

*

 

The club is crowded, loud and filled with a chaotic, shimmering darkness. 

Yunho starts gravitating towards the dancefloor before they've even gotten drinks and found a table and Changmin has to push and pull him in the right direction. Hands heavy and warm on his back and waist. 

Thoughts of unmarked tests he left on the coffee table and the copies he has to make for Monday float in the forefront of his mind until the first drink starts melting into his bloodstream and weight of Changmin's hand on his thigh becomes more apparent. 

"I'm going to dance," he shouts over the pulsing EDM beat and disappears into the crowd before anyone can stop him. 

He dances, unfamiliar music leading him between the shifting mass of bodies. There's a hand on his waist and he sways into it before it disappears again. A girl compliments him on his shirt and he tells her that her hair looks nice. 

Then the music speeds up and a different set of hands find purchase on his hips and he beams up at the flashing lights above.

Pinks, reds and blues.

Then Changmin looms out of a knot of dancers, eyes dark with intent and the warm body behind Yunho disappears almost as quickly as it had appeared. 

Now it's Changmin's hands resting on his hips, face all angles of blue and purple. 

Yunho sways against him, light and teasing until a shift in the crowd and music pulls them apart again. 

It goes on like this.

Push and pull, push and pull. Dancing alone with foreign hands until Changmin finds him again, unrelenting as ever. 

It's a game of cat and mouse and Yunho is well aware of the fact that he's the mouse, weaving between the dancers around them with Changmin's gaze burning holes in the back of his neck. 

One minute he's alone the next there's Changmin and then suddenly there's a girl in his arms, sobbing hysterically. Dark hair wild and tangled and with mascara running down her face. 

Then he's outside the club sitting on the curb with an arm around this girl's shoulder as she cries. At some point, she's wearing his jacket and telling him between sobs about her (ex) boyfriend who she had just found in the club bathroom with another girl in his lap. 

Then he's hugging her again and a burst of noise from behind them announces Changmin's arrival who stumbles into the cool night air, flushed and damp. 

Yunho recounts her story and watches fascinated as Changmin's expression goes from murderous to vengeful. It's a subtle thing and it makes blood rush in Yunho's ears. 

The girl's sobs quieten a little when Changmin pulls a pocket knife out of thin air and asks, "Does your boyfriend have a car?" 

 

Tires successfully slashed and the girl safely in the arms of her friends they walk back out of the club hand in hand because neither of them can remember how to let go.  

Yunho nods off on the bus ride home, their fingers still entwined. 

When they reach home Changmin pushes him against the door, caging him in until Yunho's world has narrowed down to the space between them and the all-encompassing hunger in Changmin's eyes. 

There's nothing careful or sweet about the kiss.

It's bruising and desperate and Yunho arches into it, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth material of Changmin's shirt. It's claiming and questioning at the same time; months of longing compressed into something bigger than the both of them combined and when Changmin shoves his tongue past Yunho's lips he opens up for him easily. 

They stumble through the living room, up the stairs and Yunho lands on Changmin's bed with a huff, warmth twisting his insides until he's arching back off the bed again. 

A grin, almost cruel in nature spreads across Changmin's face. "We should fuck," he says, an edge to his tone. 

Yunho makes an involuntary sound that's almost a curse but mostly a whimper and his legs fall open in a silent invitation.

Grin crooked with intent, Changmin crawls between them. 

 

* 

 

"So," Heechul says, putting his glass down, "what happened in the last 9 hours which has you limping on this fine Sunday morning?"

Yunho shuffles his feet, not meeting his eyes. 

"Nothing?"

"Nothing? Where's Changmin then?"

"I don't know," Yunho replies because it's the truth. He could be anywhere. 

Heechul's eyes narrow. "And where was he last night?" 

"I– I don't–" 

The water in Heechul's glass sloshes over onto the table top when he jabs an accusing finger at Yunho's chest. "Oh, get over yourself – you're limping like someone who's just been fucked by a merchant of death." And when Yunho gets up to escape he adds, "Is his dick really that big?" 

 

*

 

Yunho is many things. A teacher, semi-permanently tired and stressed. 

But whatever his sister might say, he's  _not_ lonely. Not anymore. 

The cuddly toys still take up most of the sofa but a grim reaper takes up the rest. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah idk what this is lmao 
> 
> also, the ending is like that bc i didn't want the last line to be abt changmin's dick (i'm sorry) 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/saddermachine) | [tumblr](https://neoshinki.tumblr.com/)


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